


take this sinking boat

by eleanor_lavish



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Divorce, Drunk Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-08
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years from his Idol win, and Kris's life isn't turning into the fairy tale he'd imagined.  Luckily, Adam's always got his back.  (Divorce fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks first and foremost to my AI enablers, [](http://yeats.livejournal.com/profile)[**yeats**](http://yeats.livejournal.com/) (who has a habit of going ALL CAPS when things excite her) and [](http://elegantcrimes.livejournal.com/profile)[**elegantcrimes**](http://elegantcrimes.livejournal.com/) (who was in the room when they sang with QUEEN, and so is the luckiest girl ever). Love to my girls [](http://siryn99.livejournal.com/profile)[**siryn99**](http://siryn99.livejournal.com/) who made grabby hands at me for this fic and [](http://schuyler.livejournal.com/profile)[**schuyler**](http://schuyler.livejournal.com/) who suffered through it all and will read this even if she doesn't care about Adam. (YET.) Most excellent and amazing love to my best beta [](http://o4fuxache.livejournal.com/profile)[**o4fuxache**](http://o4fuxache.livejournal.com/) who will always tell it to me straight and still make me laugh. Any faults below are totally mine and shouldn't reflect on her awesome skills at wrestling the English language into submission.

Kris is actually pretty impressed they make it as far as they do.

It starts with the tour, then the move to LA to make the album (only temporary, Kris tells her, even though they both know that Kris isn't long for small town life). They make it through album press, and a totally trumped-up scandal involving photoshopped pictures, and his first headlining tour. They make it nine years (together), or almost three (of marriage), or nearly two (post-Idol), but eventually Katy misses Conway and hates California and hates touring, and their fights become so routine that Kris barely registers them anymore. She stays in Arkansas when he goes on his second tour - _Decorating the new house_ , he tells the press. _Spending time with her grandmother._ It's all true, but it's also true that the house was bought as a last-ditch effort to keep them together, and somewhere along the way it became a parting gift from Kris to the only girl he's ever loved - a glaring, angry signpost at the crossroads of both of their lives.

Kris hasn't been back to the Conway house since he got off tour a month ago. His divorce papers are delivered to the suite he's living in at the Sunset Marquis in West Hollywood, a stone's throw from Adam's new place in the canyon. He drinks a hundred dollars worth of tequila from the minibar before he calls for a car. He takes the papers with him, tucked in his messenger bag. It's perverse, he knows, but he doesn't want to be away from them. It's proof, he thinks. Irrefutable proof that he can fuck up as badly as anyone, that life is unfair and messy and he's finally going to disappoint a whole lot of people - his family, his fans, his management.

It's kind of liberating.

There are a handful of cars in the driveway when the towncar drops him off - Kris frowns at the unfamiliar sedan parked behind Adam's Lexus. He should have called first, but he didn't know how to say _Hey, man, it's me, I'm coming over to drown my sorrows in your best scotch_. Adam knew it was coming before Kris did, he's pretty sure. He's been fielding questions about Katy for months, stoically enduring concerned looks whenever he and Adam were alone together. It wasn't often anymore - mostly they were crammed in the back of a limo surrounded by handlers, or eating in restaurants with people from 19E, with Drake (or Nate, or Stephen, or whichever boyfriend Adam was sporting that month), or with Katy. Adam's never asked him outright if he and Katy were in trouble, which is Adam's MO; he opens the door and waits to see if Kris will walk in. It started at the mansion two years ago, when Adam opened his makeup bag and laid the contents out on the counter of their shared bathroom, foundations and nail polish and glitter and hair products with French names. "You okay with this?" he'd asked, and the question was weighted so Kris could come down on either side. "Man, your hair is going to kick my hair's _ass_ ," had been Kris's easy reply, and Adam's grin sealed their friendship right there.

They didn't talk about it. They didn't need to.

There's a crash from the back patio, and Kris can hear Adam's loud bark of a laugh. He rings the bell and it takes a full minute for Adam to answer it, breathless and smiling, wearing a soft grey t-shirt with a shiny scroll design printed along the front. The worn jeans Adam always wears when he's relaxing at home are sliding dangerously low on his hips. ("Dude jeans," he calls them with a wink. "Frat boy jeans.") His smile widens when he sees Kris, and he tugs him into a hug with one big hand. "What the _fuck_?" he laughs into Kris's hair, "I was just talking about you, and here you are! Come on, I have some people out back."

Kris doesn't ask what Adam was saying about him; he can guess from two years of friendship that it was either a scathing dissection of Kris's wardrobe or a fierce defense of his hetero-normative lifestyle. Adam's friends are pretty predictable in their conversational choices. He doesn't get a word in before Adam's got his hand, dragging him to the patio with its small, perfect pool surrounded by small, perfect men. His head is still swimming from the tequila, and his bag feels heavy against his shoulder, the thick manila envelope pressing against his palm when he folds his hand over it. He's not sure why he's here, but Adam's talking a mile a minute - about the new crop of Idol contestants, about Simon Fuller's death grip on Kris's career, about the new kitchen island he wants to put in - and it's nice. Familiar. He lets Adam steer him to a lawn chair and put a drink in his hand, lets the conversation around the pool wash over him.

He's had three more drinks before Adam plops in a chair next to him and nudges him in the leg with his bare foot. "You're quiet," he says with a small smile. Kris lolls his head back on the seat. He's heavy everywhere, his head and his fingers and his thigh where his messenger bag is propped against it. "Tired," he says, and he _is_ tired, but his voice cracks a little on the word and Adam's smile slips into a concerned line.

"What's up?" he asks quietly, his eyes cutting across the yard to make sure they aren't being watched. The two guys in the pool (Javier and... something with an E. Evan?) seem too wrapped up in each other to be paying attention. The third guy is gone. Kris wonders how he missed that.

He blinks at Adam, eyelids as heavy as the rest of him, and shrugs. He can't say it, doesn't know how to push the words out when he feels like this, so he just lifts his knee and jiggles it so that the bag shakes loose and falls from its perch on his chair. Kris expects it to make more noise when it lands, expects a tremor, like an earthquake, but it just smacks lightly on the finished wood of Adam's patio. Adam raises his eyebrows and reaches down to pick it up. Kris closes his eyes and tries to remember what it felt like to breathe without this pressure in his chest.

It takes a minute - the clasp on Kris's bag is notoriously tricky - but Kris can hear the sharp intake of breath over the rustling of paper. "Kris..." he says, his voice heavy and sad, and Kris squeezes his eyes shut tighter. He opens his hand though, and is intensely grateful when Adam's finds it immediately, holding on tight and warm and dry. He holds on a minute, then squeezes, and then Kris doesn't know why he's suddenly pulling away; he opens his eyes to try and make a grab for the lifeline of Adam's hand. "Hey, guys?" Adam's got his falsely nice voice on, the one he uses in hour four of press junkets. "I hate to do this, but I just remembered I have an early radio thing, so..." Kris can hear them bitching and cajoling from across the yard, but Adam has them swept up and out in under five minutes, not even caring that they're dripping wet on his new bamboo floors.

Kris can't find the strength to get up, so he just waits until Adam's back, bare feet slapping against the wood until he's hovering over Kris, hands on his hips. "Shove over," Adam says, and Kris snorts out a laugh. Adam just rolls his eyes and shoves Kris over bodily, sliding in next to him until they're pressed thigh to hip to arm. He shifts up just enough that Kris's head drops to Adam's chest and Kris exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding. Adam's fingers cord through his hair. It might be weird, this kind of affection from anyone else. But they've been doing this since tour, since the first round of nights when they were too exhausted to care, and too lonely to be alone. It's just them, and Kris lets his fingers curl in the soft fabric of Adam's shirt. "How long?" Adam asks softly, and he could be asking a lot of things, but Kris's answer is immediate.

"Since the album," he says, because really that's when Katy wasn't first in his life for the first time ever. "Some people don't do as well as you with second place," he drawls, perverse amusement lacing his voice. Adam doesn't laugh. He just pulls Kris a fraction closer.

"You could have told me," Adam says, not angry, just concerned. "You know that--"

"Didn't want to say it," Kris says with a shrug and Adam sighs.

They lay there long enough that Kris starts drifting off, the warm LA air blanketing both of them, Adam's heartbeat steady under his temple. "Hey, how drunk are you?" Adam asks, jostling him just a little.

"Goes to eleven," Kris mumbles back and Adam's chest vibrates with a silent giggle.

"Come on, Nigel, time for bed."

It takes Adam three tries to get them both off the deck chair, and another two to get the patio door open. Kris can barely stay upright, but he can't tell if it's the alcohol or the fact that his body's finally getting over the rush of adrenaline he'd spiked when the papers had fallen into his hands. "You've been served," the guy had said, then: "Have a nice day." Kris rests his head on Adam's shoulder and laughs a little; he thinks his face must have been priceless. Adam props him against the kitchen counter with one hand and uses the bulk of his body to keep Kris in place.

"Here," Adam says with a small smile, "drink this." It's a glass of water - room temperature - and Adam slips him a few Advil too. "You'll thank me tomorrow," he adds when Kris makes a noise of protest. Kris doesn't even blink when Adam bypasses the guest room and drags them both to his master bedroom. It's massive, with a walk-in closet bigger than Kris's college dorm room, and a California king under a skylight. Adam just settles Kris on the bed, tugging off his shoes and the button down shirt he's wearing over his wifebeater. He putters around for a few minutes; Kris can hear the clang of his rings as they're dropped onto a metal tray, hears the water run in the bathroom as Adam goes through his nightly cleanser routine. They're sounds more familiar to Kris than he thinks they should be, more comforting than Katy's usual bedtime chatter about new curtains and work and coworkers he barely knows. Adam hums a little as he strips out of his shirt, let's his pants drop to the floor. He doesn't notice Kris watching until he's got soft sleep pants tied around his waist, and he smiles warmly. "You okay?"

Kris nods before he can really process the question, but... yeah. Yeah, he's okay.

Adam crawls into the bed on the other side and tucks the soft sheets around them. It's big enough that there's no need to touch, but Adam slides close enough that his arm is pressed against Kris's, warm in the darkness.

*

"You get one more day of this, Kristopher," Adam says with an exaggerated sigh as Kris shuffles out of the master bedroom at two in the afternoon. Kris is in basketball shorts and a white tank top - the same combo he's been sporting since Adam went by his hotel to grab his stuff a week ago. There have been surprisingly few people over at Adam's in that time, for which Kris is eternally grateful. There's also been a steady stream of beer and fancy cocktails that Adam calls things like "The Monster Cock" and "My Piano Teacher Was A Perv"; Kris is sure they have more more innocuous names in the real world, so he'd never be able to order one at a bar. Which is sad, because the Monster Cock is really pretty delicious.

Kris has also been spending every night drunkenly passed out in his best friend's bed, but he's not really thinking about that just now.

Adam closes his laptop with a click, sliding it over to pick at a bowl of fresh fruit and yogurt. Kris smiles sheepishly and grabs a bowl for cereal. (Adam says he likes weird crunchy granola kinds, but when Kris makes him buy Cap'n Crunch at the store, he eats half the box.) His head has the same dull throb it's had every morning of the last week. He tosses a glance at the formal dining table and the envelope with his divorce papers still sitting there on the gleaming glass top. He considers a beer with breakfast, but the idea sends his stomach scurrying for cover. When he looks back, Adam is watching him. "You going to sign those?" he asks, and Kris can feel his cheeks heating up with embarrassment, maybe a little shame.

It's been a week, but the shock of it hasn't worn off entirely. Kris only read the papers once, downing a bottle of Cuervo that first day, but Adam had a lawyer friend over a few days ago to look them over. "She wants the house in Conway," Adam had said gravely, his face strangely alien in its seriousness. "Its her fucking house," Kris replied bitterly, because he really didn't want to be in Arkansas again for a while. "And she wants half, but only of the last three years, not future earnings, or alimony or anything. Monica says it's a decent deal." "Sure," Kris nodded, because it's nice that she only wants half of what he used to be, and not what he's becoming. Kind of karmic, really.

He didn't sign them, though.

"Maybe today," Kris says, but he knows that's what he said yesterday. Adam sighs again.

"I don't want you to rush into anything. You should call your lawyer --" he starts, and Kris shakes his head firmly.

"Monica's word is fine," he replies curtly. "I'll do it later today."

Adam's quiet until they finish eating, spoons scraping the bottom of their bowls, and they both clear the table with practiced ease. "You want to come with me to RCA?" Adam asks, and Kris thinks _god, no_ , but he just shakes his head.

"Think I'll write a little." His acoustic is sitting on Adam's couch, and Kris has a few chords stuck in his head he'd like to shake loose. He thinks there are words there too, but the sound is already so sad, he's not sure he wants to know what they are yet.

Adam grabs his bag from over the kitchen chair and kisses the top of Kris's head as he heads out the door. "I'm bringing home some Thai for dinner," he calls, halfway out the door. "Hope you like your beef _spicy_. You know I do," and Kris can't help but smile at the joke.

The song, it turns out, is two songs, or maybe three, but none of them will flow. He keeps standing up to get a glass of water, or go to the bathroom, or check his blackberry, but every time he looks up he can see the envelope from Katy sitting on the table. He puts his guitar down, stands up, takes a deep breath, then another one. He walks to the table and slides his index finger under the flap, tips the envelope so that the papers slide out into his palm. It's not a huge document - not nearly as long as divorce papers for a rockstar could be - and he tries to read it again, but his eyes get stuck on Katy's name - _Katherine Allen, Plaintiff_ \- and his, right next to it. He wishes he could say she's different, that she's a stranger now, but he knows of the both of them, he's the one who's changed the most. He picks up the black pen that's tucked into Adam's book of crossword puzzles. He watches himself sign his name with detached fascination. He dates it, slides it back in the return envelope that was so helpfully included. He licks the flap, presses the metal tabs in place, puts it down on the table.

He finds the Jack Daniels behind the raspberry vodka on Adam's bar, and he drinks.

He's not sure how long he's been passed out when Adam finds him. He's in the bed, at least - he barely made it after throwing up for half an hour in Adam's bathroom. He can't really open his eyes, but when he squints, the room is dark. "Hey, come on, Kris," Adam is saying, over and over, his fingers tight on Kris's shoulder, one hand cupping the back of his neck, shaking him a little more forcefully than Kris is happy with.

"Stoppit," Kris manages to mumble and Adam's breath catches a little.

"Fuck, you total asshole," he says, angry and a little shaky. "What the fuck did you drink?"

"Dunno," Kris says. "'Lot. Time's it?" he mumbles and Adam looks scared, guilty.

"Late. After midnight. I ran into some friends who were having a party. I called, but when you didn't pick up, I figured you were writing." He smooths his hand over Kris' hair and Kris lets himself lean a little in the coolness of the touch. "Left you a message." He drops his head to the bed, lets himself fall back a little on his knees. "God, I've been trying to wake you up for ten minutes. I almost called 911."

"Sorry, sorry," Kris frowns, and pets the back of Adam's head clumsily. They don't move for a few long minutes, and Kris folds a few strands of Adam's hair between his fingers. They're thick and coarse, a little sticky when he rubs them together. "I signed them," he says, because it hurt a lot, but he also wants Adam to know he was strong enough to do it. He wants Adam to be a little proud of him.

Adam turns his head and presses his face into Kris's shoulder, grabbing Kris's hand as it slides over his cheek and folding their fingers together. "Good," he whispers and Kris swallows hard around a sudden lump in his throat. "Next step, real pants," Adam says then, and Kris lets out a surprised laugh.

"Yeah, okay," he says.

*

"Why are we watching _Die Hard_ again?" Kris asks from his usual spot on Adam's couch.

"Hmm?" Adam says, glancing up from his laptop. He has the good breeding to look a little embarrassed.

"Dude, you aren't even _watching_! Why don't we put in something you want to watch?"

"No, whatever you want is fine!"

"Really?" Kris asks, a little sarcastically. He doesn't quite remember getting a choice on _Die Hard_.

Kris picks _Love, Actually_ from Adam's shelf and drops it in the player. He remembers seeing it years ago with Katy, and smiling wide as they left the theater. Halfway through, he's wiping at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. Adam slides in close on the couch and wraps an arm around his shoulder. "You want explosions instead?" he asks quietly and Kris laughs through the tightness in his throat.

"Nah, this is good," he says. Adam leans his cheek on Kris's shoulder and they watch the rest together.

*

He doesn't want to, but Adam talks Kris into a small press release about the divorce. His publicist is frantic, his management is livid that they didn't involve his lawyer in the divorce, his mom is angry that he made his private grief public at all. She wants him to come home, but Kris is pretty sure Conway's not home anymore. He just doesn't know how to tell his mom that. He tells her he has to stay in LA for work, and he doesn't like lying to her so he starts writing more, even though most of it won't ever see the light of day.

He doesn't leave Adam's house for most of a month, because he's not sure how to answer the paparazzi who find him at the studio, or picking up some Jamba Juice. _"Did she cheat on you?"_ they ask. _"Are you seeing someone now?"_ Kris doesn't know how to tell them that sometimes two people are just two people, and no one person is to blame. He thinks about telling them the only person he sees regularly at all these days is Adam, and smiles to himself as he elbows past them to his car. The reaction would be epic, and Adam's raised eyebrows and warm belly laugh would make it almost worth it. He really doesn't want to upset his publicist again, though.

Adam never asks if he wants to move in. He basically does, though; slowly his clothes and his books and his laptop and his growing collection of Nikes end up strewn around Adam's ranch house. He lets his hotel reservation expire without telling Adam - he figures if Adam ever needs him to leave, it will be easy enough to get a new one. Most nights he spends in Adam's room. Sometimes Adam doesn't come in until five or six in the morning; when he thinks Kris is still passed out, he'll just wash his face and slip under the covers still smelling of weed and sweat and sex.

Kris doesn't call him on it. It's Adam's bed, after all, and they're both being very good about not mentioning that fact.

He's writing a lot, so his hours are erratic. Adam's hours have always been erratic, so they make pretty decent roommates, sharing pizza at 3am and talking about industry shit that they're both dealing with, sitting quietly in the same room and working on chords and lyrics and arrangements. They've both got one album out and another in the works, but they've never officially collaborated on anything. Kris wants to tell nosy reporters that they collaborate all the damn time, on snippets of songs that no one else will ever hear, songs they make up on the fly that make them both laugh. They get high a lot too - more in one month than Kris ever did in college. He likes it, the way his body feels heavy and warm, the way his fingers tingle as he strums his guitar.

Kris hasn't spent much time with Adam's friends before. He knows a few of them - Monica the lawyer, Henry the bartender, Brad and Drake and the boyfriends he always manages to stay friends with even after they break up. Now he finds himself squashed into sofas with them on movie nights, or mixing drinks at Adam's bar for boys in too-tight tank tops. They're fun. They're bawdy. They _flirt_. Kris has been in the business a while now, but the way LA boys flirt with him is still shocking enough that he blushes to his toes even as he laughs and shakes his head. "That's why they keep doing it," Adam whispers in his ear, eyes glittery and unfocused. "You're adorable when you blush." Kris doesn't mind it, not really. Not when he's tipsy and warm on Adam's patio, and a boy with pretty eyes and strong hands offers him a back massage ("no strings!"). His eyes are closed and he's hissing a little as the boy kneads a particularly sore spot. "God, that's awesome," he mumbles, swaying back into the press of his fingers. "Right there, harder, _yeah_." He hears Adam clear his throat and peeks his eyes open to see half the assembled party watching. His cheeks flush scarlet.

"We need to get you laid," Adam says.

*

It's always been Katy. Since he was fifteen years old, it's been Katy he's had every first with, and he's pretty fucking proud of that fact. She was the belle of their high school class, and they waited until prom night senior year to have sex. Adam had laughed his ass off when Kris told him, years ago, in the dark of their Idol bus lounge. "That is _so_ Donna on 90210," he'd said, but Kris didn't care. It had been cliche and silly and terrifying and weird and awesome. They'd gotten better at it too - Kris wasn't a prude, and they liked sex. Loved sex. They _loved_ sex. And it was good sex - who cares that they'd only ever had it with each other? But now Kris is a 26-year-old divorced guy who has no _idea_ how to go about having sex with non-Katy-shaped people.

Adam didn't lose his virginity until he was twenty-one. Kris remembers thinking that was sweet, until he asked Adam how many guys he'd slept with since then.

Kris is used to losing that game, but Adam's score is still impressive.

*

Adam sits him down in the kitchen on a warm Saturday morning. "Okay," he says, oddly serious. "What are the top five qualities a person has to have for you go on a date with them?"

Kris blinks at him. "Um. They have to be nice?"

Adam sighs. "God, you suck at this," he says, and Kris isn't sure if he's talking to Kris or himself. Adam takes a sip of his coffee. "There are a lot of people in LA who want to hook up with you, sir, so you need to pay attention here. Five things you want in a potential mate. And... go!"

"I," Kris starts, and huffs, arms crossing. "This is stupid. I've been divorced for _two months_ \--"

"When's the last time you actually _saw_ Katy?" Adam asks, waving his hand over the table. "You've been a single guy for a lot longer than two months," he says, kindly but firmly. Kris frowns at the tabletop.

"I just want someone who's nice," he says. "Who's not going to get mad when I have to go on tour. Who has her own stuff going on."

"Low maintenance," Adam nods. "Obviously. What else? Physical characteristics?"

"I don't care about that," Kris says, because he's been with Katy long enough that he doesn't even know how to look at other girls anymore without comparing.

"Yeah, you do," Adam grins. Kris makes another huffy sound and Adam laughs. "You do! You like blonds, but I think you'd run screaming from the silicone blonds in the valley."

"I don't think I'm ready for LA blonds," Kris says lightly, but he's thinking of Adam's friend Susie who has fabulous tits and purple-streaked hair and a sleeve of tattoos. He's not sure he's ready for that either.

Adam hums a little, taps his blue-tipped fingers against the counter. He's not wearing any makeup, and Kris maps the freckles on his face, his lips, the cluster under his ear. "You like the natural look," Adam says, and Kris can feel the blush starting to bloom on his cheeks, but he pushes down the reasons why.

*

"What do you think of these?" Adam sticks his left foot out and wags it a little from side to side. Kris shifts the weight of Adam's shopping bag to his right hand and tilts his head. The boots are silver snakeskin, with a solid, square toe and a chunky two inch heel. "They make you look like you have robot feet," he says, and Adam snorts.

"Not the ringing endorsement I was hoping for, but. Yeah, point." He takes them off and the sales girl hands him another one, supple brown leather with a gold brocade along one side. "Want to go to Marchetti's after? I'm having a cannoli craving."

"After you buy up half the store?" Kris grins. "Sure." They've been shopping for what seems like most of a day, but Kris's watch assures him has only been a few hours. So far, Adam has bought three pairs of shoes, a pair of jeans with black leather stitching up the side, and a black t-shirt that looks like all his other black t-shirts, but which apparently is made of platinum, if Kris goes by the price tag. Adam wrinkles his nose at the fit of the brown shoe and takes it off before Kris can even comment.

"One more?" Adam says as the sales girl hands him another black boot.

"Well, okay, but I think you already own those."

Adam pauses and inspects the boot closely. "Well, shit." He looks up at Kris with a sheepish grin, and Kris laughs. "Cannolis it is!" Adam laces up his shoes and they don't notice the paparazzi outside the store until they're tugging the door open. Adam stiffens for a second before pasting on a smile. Kris tugs his aviators out of his collar and puts them on. "Showtime," Adam says quietly before taking his bags from Kris and pushing the door open. It's been two years, but Kris still flinches at the first barrage of flashbulbs.

"Hey boys!" Adam laughs and Kris raises one hand in a tentative wave. There are a lot of them, and they're all standing between Kris and Adam and Adam's car, parked half a block down. They're yelling things that Kris has mostly managed to tune out; mainly they're talking to Adam anyway, trying to get a reaction with taunts about his last flame, quotes from some homophobe on Fox News. There are a couple of lines thrown his way too, mostly about Katy and if he knows if she's seeing anyone. Kris grits his teeth and ducks his head down. The pack only parts slightly when Adam starts walking directly through them, Kris trailing behind. They make it ten steps before Kris gets bumped by a guy who's got at least a hundred pounds on him. He stumbles a step to the left, and he can hear Adam's sharp intake of breath. "Not cool, asshole," he says coldly, smile slipping from friendly to feral as he grabs Kris's wrist and pulls him out of the pack and down the block.

Kris gets in the car and Adam guns the engine once, twice, giving the guys surrounding his car exactly five seconds warning to get out of the way before he's peeling out of his spot with a little more speed than Kris is comfortable with. Kris is pretty sure one of the guys fell over in his hurry to jump clear. " _Jesus_ ," Kris says, a hysterical laugh edging into his voice. "Hey, Mario Andretti, I think we lost them."

"You okay?" Adam asks with a serious expression. He keeps glancing at Kris in the passenger seat, eyes flicking from his face to his wrist. Kris looks down to find his fingers rubbing at it absently. Adam's grip was pretty intense; he can still see the outline of Adam's fingers in his skin.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Kris says, and he's not even really shaken up by it. Adam is, though. His fingers are white knuckled on the steering wheel.

"That _motherfucker_ ," he spits out. "I knew we shouldn't have gone out without Big Mike."

"Right, because Big Mike loves accompanying you on shoe shopping expeditions," Kris rolls his eyes. "It was fine."

"It wasn't fine," Adam grits out. They drive in silence for a few minutes before he says "Sorry. For grabbing you like that."

"You can grab me any time," Kris says with an exaggerated leer and Adam laughs, finally.

"Promises, promises."

*

The US Weekly headline blares "LAMBERT AND ALLEN: MORE THAN FRIENDS?" with a cover photo of Adam's fingers wrapped around Kris's wrist. It looks like they're holding hands.

Kris groans and puts his head on the table. Adam pats his hand gently and takes another bite of his pancakes. "It was only a matter of time, baby."

*

"I can't believe my _publicist_ is making me go out on a date," Kris scowls at his reflection. Adam stands next to him, looking critically at his choice of jeans and black button down.

"She seems nice," he says absently. "Also, are you sure you won't wear the green one? I love the green one." Kris glares at him and Adam giggles. "No, come on, it'll be fun. Have the crabcakes, compliment her dress, hold open doors. You know all this stuff."

"Yeah, but I have met this girl _one time_ , Adam. _One time_. What if she's like... racist? Or chews with her mouth open?" He pulls on his leather jacket and steals another glance in the mirror. His stomach is heavy and his palms are sweating. His first date in nine years, and what if she's a _vegan_ or something?

Adam raises his eyebrows. "We could still go with eyeliner," is all he says and Kris can hear him laugh as he stomps out the front door.

He's halfway down Sunset when he gets a text. _youll be fine. have fun!!!! come home after and well have a bowl and watch talk soup_. He smiles and tucks the phone in his pocket. He's already at the restaurant, waiting nervously at the table, when Adam sends a follow-up: _or get her wasted and fucke her. srsly if i c u befor dawn im disssowning you_.

Kris laughs even as the blush runs up his cheeks. _someone's already wasted, I see._

 _if shes hot, bring hr hoem and well take orgy pix for teh enquirer!_

Kris puts the phone in his pocket when she arrives but he keeps it on vibrate. Adam sends him texts at random intervals all night. Kris never checks them, but he finds it strangely comforting every time his phone vibrates against his hip.

*

He doesn't sleep with the girl - Angela - on the first date, but he does on the third. They leave some club where Kris never got to leave VIP and Kris is pretty drunk already; when she leans on him, a strawberry-blond curl tickling his cheek, her hand warm on his lower back, he only hesitates a little when she suggests a cab back to her place.

He doesn't stay the night, mostly because he gets the feeling she doesn't want him to. He gets back to Adam's at four in the morning. He thinks about maybe crashing out on the sofa, but nixes that idea when he opens the door to find Adam sitting on it. "Hey," Adam says, and there's this little twinkle in his eye, like he wants to be flippant and funny, but he's holding himself back. Kris really wishes he wouldn't hold back - he's already feeling a little hungover, and totally weird, and Adam being _Adam_ would kind of improve his night a lot.

"Hey," Kris says, and when Adam tilts his head forward expectantly, all Kris can do is shrug.

"Excellent!" Adam crows, and waves him over, patting the seat next to him. "Spill, spill, spill!"

"There's... god, _no_ ," Kris groans, and Adam laughs again. Kris really just wants a shower, actually; his skin is still sticky from sweat and lube from the condom, and he smells like perfume and, really, it wasn't that sexy. It wasn't _bad_ , but... "It was okay," he says and Adam says "Awwww" and pulls him closer. "I don't know," Kris shrugs again, "I kept worrying I was gonna mess it up, and then she was really quiet."

"After?" Adam asks, and he's turned a little so one knee is folded onto the sofa and he's looking at Kris directly. Kris has never been a kiss-and-tell guy, but he's heard enough details of Adam's sex life that he figures it's fair.

"No, _during_ ," Kris says, and flushes a little at the memory. "I mean, Katy wasn't, like, a pornstar in bed, but this girl was just _silent_. I kept wondering if she was just, like, sleeping with her eyes open." That wasn't exactly true, since her hands were everywhere at once, it seemed, squeezing and tugging, but it makes Adam laugh, and Kris grins at him.

"Okay, adding 'loud in bed' to your list of must-have's," he notes.

"No, that's. I don't need _loud_ , but someone who, like, has fun? That would be great." Kris leans back into the sofa cushions and sighs. "Or maybe I'm just not that good at it."

When he looks over, Adam's shaking his head at him.

"What?"

"I've seen your moves, Allen. And I am pretty confident that's not actually possible. All that hip action has got to--"

Kris kicks him lightly in the knee, but his chest feels warm and light. When he opens his mouth, his words come out halting and soft. "I just. Katy and I were friends for a long time before we slept together, and I think. I'm _that_ guy. The feelings guy. Tonight was just... awkward."

Adam smiles at him, a small, secret smile that reminds Kris how well Adam knows him. "Of course you're that guy. That's why you're my favorite," he stage whispers. "But don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

Kris kicks his feet up on the coffee table and sighs. "No more dates for a while," he says, and Adam yawns widely, arms stretched above his head.

"Good call. Come on, sex machine. Bedtime," he says, and tugs Kris to his feet and down the hall.

*

Adam's friend Alexis does tarot card readings. Kris has been told things like that are the Devil's handiwork, but that's along with Ouija boards, smoking weed and Adam himself, so he pretty much just thinks it's a neat party trick. He sits at the small card table in Alexis's living room and tries to focus on the cards and not on the swirling party happening around him. "Okay," Alexis intones with a bit more theatrics than Kris thinks is necessary, "The Wheel of Fortune means you're having rapid changes in your fortunes, for good or ill it does not say. But paired with the Eight of Wands it suggests a positive, healthy direction," Kris nods, hums a little, and tries not to roll his eyes. _Way to vague it up for me_ , he thinks.

Adam's somewhere in the house, probably with the boy he came to "throw against the nearest surface and ravage", as he'd put it in the car. Kris is happy enough meeting some new people. Unlike most of their industry parties, this one doesn't have the set of up-and-coming actors Kris barely recognizes, or the starlets in skimpy dresses. This is a Burner party, and Kris is almost entirely out of his element. It's kind of fun, but he wishes now that he'd let Adam talk him into the leather pants and tight green t-shirt combo he'd been pushing. In his trusty plaid shirt, Kris feels totally out of place.

There's a Knight of Cups card down now ("sensitive, creative, romantic," Alexis says dreamily), followed by a card that says Lovers, and Alexis starts talking about growth and adulthood and choices. Kris tries to listen, but two guys stumble into the room just out of his line of sight and start making out against her bookshelf. Kris shakes his head every time his eyes wander in that direction, but he loses the train of Alexis's conversation when one of the guys lets out a moan that sounds suspiciously familiar.

Kris flushes pink, grateful for the low lighting, and cuts his eyes over his shoulder to see Adam's fingers slide into some guy's hair, mouth open and eyes closed as the guy sucks an impressive hickey onto his neck. The guy is shorter than Adam by more than a few inches, hair fair against Adam's tan skin, and Kris has a perfect view of Adam's face as their bodies rut against each other. He's pretty sure he's staring, but Adam's making this _sound_ that Kris can feel in his palms, his chest, running along his spine. He's heard plenty about Adam's hookups, but he's never seen Adam in full make out mode. He's never _heard_ Adam with anyone, his voice projecting the same combination of sex and perfect control Adam exudes on stage, with this added undercurrent of _want_. When Adam's eyes flicker like he's about to open them, Kris turns forward quickly and blinks at the table, his heart pounding.

There's a new card on the table - a tower with a bolt of lightening hitting it - and Alexis is watching him with wide eyes. "Wow, that's... interesting," she says, and Kris can barely hear her following "This symbolizes that you're entering a period of intense self-discovery..." over the rush of blood in his own ears.

*

He feels like he should have seen it coming, should be able to track the slow shift in his feelings for Adam from friends to... _this_. He should, but. Honestly, he _can't_.

He watches Adam tug on his jacket and laugh at someone's joke, his shirt slipping a little to reveal a sharp, purple mark on his throat. Kris ducks his head, focuses on the scuffs on his Vans like everyone will be able to read what he's thinking on his face. To the world, Adam has always been a sexual being, but to Kris he's just been _Adam_ \- no makeup, hair wet from the shower, fuzzy sleep pants and easy smiles and good advice and strong hands to hold on to.

Now he wants to push Adam against that bookcase himself, bite the bruise at the base of Adam's neck and make him buck and moan in surprise. Or maybe, Kris thinks, maybe the other way around...

Kris takes a sharp, sudden breath. This is not actually _happening_ to him, he thinks. This is not actually _possible_.

Adam puts a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon," Adam says, warm and inviting, and Kris's pulse jumps.

 _Fuck_.


	2. Chapter 2

They still sleep in the same bed.

Kris makes noises about the guest room a few times, but Adam's forehead wrinkles a little, like he's upset, or worried or something, and Kris ends up following Adam to his room every night, still in the middle of a conversation about Judaism, or hair product, or the difference between "kitsch" and "camp". (Kris is still learning where that line is.)

Kris doesn't fall asleep easily anymore, though he fakes it pretty well. He can feel Adam's warmth seeping across the bed and takes deep, even breaths to try and tramp down the need to reach out and touch him. Kris wants to be able to put distance between them, but he can't make himself do it. His friendship with Adam is the only thing he's got right now that doesn't remind him of a person he hasn't been in a long time, and he leans into every hug, savors every time Adam leans against him, presses close to him on the sofa, just because he can. He wriggles his toes under Adam's warm thigh when they watch movies, and tucks his arm around Adam's waist when they're waiting for the microwave to ding for their popcorn. It's exactly _them_ ; it's all the same, really, except for where it's wildly, fantastically different.

His thoughts fluctuate wildly between shame over feeling like he's taking advantage, and the thrill of wondering if maybe he's not taking _enough_.

*

"Hey, mama," Kris cradles his cell phone under his ear and slips his key in the lock of the front door. "What are you doin', callin' me during school?" Adam's car isn't in the driveway, but Kris checks the fridge and sure enough there's a note from him. _K, Hitting up 19E then Whole Foods. Txt me if you want anything special. ~A_

Kris smiles.

"Half-day," Mama Allen chirps in his ear. "Thought I'd check in on you."

Kris flops on the couch and toes off his shoes. "You don't need to check in on me every two days, Mom."

"Pphft, I can check up on you as much as I want to." He can hear the dogs barking in the background, and the splash of the kids in the backyard pool. It sounds like home, and it makes Kris's heart ache a little. "Did you get the box I sent?"

"Yes, but come on, a whole bundt cake? I don't even know where you got the idea that was an easy thing to mail."

"Just because it's hard doesn't mean it's not worth doing," she says sagely. "It got there in one piece?"

"Yeah, but Adam ate half of it before we even got it out of the box." Kris lays down and tucks his arm under his head. "He says thank you, and he loves you, by the way."

"Good. That's... good." He can hear the way she's holding back, closes his eyes. "Have you talked to Katy at all?" she says finally, and Kris sighs.

"Just some emails," he says and he wonders when it will stop being this hard to even talk about her. "Lawyer stuff, house stuff."

"Okay, that's good. You should call her sometime." She pauses, and Kris braces for some sort of reconciliation speech, the kind he got for the first few months. "She's not mad, you know. She's your best friend, and you should call her."

"Mama, we're not--"

"No, no, I know that," Mama Allen says gently. "But maybe you could use a friend, and she's a good friend."

"I have friends here," Kris says, "I have Adam."

His mom is quiet for a long minute. "I know you do, I just think. If there's ever anything you can't say to Adam, anything he's not... I just think Katy might like to talk."

Kris can feel his heart speed up in his chest. "Mama," he starts, but she cuts him off.

"Looks like it's going to rain, so I've got to go wrangle up some dogs and some kids. You tell Adam to keep taking good care of you, and I'll keep the baked goods coming, okay? You're both my boys, and I'm not going to let you get all skinny on me."

"Okay, mama," he whispers past the lump in his throat.

"Love you," she says, and he can feel her smile across the continent. "No matter what."

*

The sun on the back deck is brutal, and Adam is hiding under the shade of his patio umbrella. Kris watches him flip through a magazine, slumped in his chair enough that a little line of pudge is visible over the waistband of his swim trunks. Kris would never mention it, but it's adorable. The sun moves slowly across the sky and Adam shifts a fraction along with it, trying to keep himself in the shade. "You know you live in LA," Kris says from his sunny spot by the pool. "You can't just pretend the sun doesn't exist."

Adam snorts. "Man, I am one big, freckled Jew. I can always pretend the sun doesn't exist."

Kris tips his head back and laughs. "Then why did you get a place with a pool?"

"It's LA! They all have pools!" Adam says, throwing his hands up.

"C'mere," Kris drawls, because it truly is a gorgeous day, and Adam should be enjoying it. Adam tosses his magazine on the table and walks over until his shadow falls across Kris's face.

"Fine, but you have to do my back," he says, dangling a bottle of sunscreen over Kris's torso. Kris nods dutifully and sits up as Adam flops down on his stomach on the adjacent lounge chair. His back is wide and pale, dotted with tiny brown marks that make Kris's fingers itch, and suddenly this doesn't seem like a very good idea at all. "Don't miss any spots," Adam says groggily, his eyes already closed. "I don't want to be all blotchy."

Kris tips the bottle into his palm, and the sunscreen is already warm from hours on the hot deck. It feels slick and hot in his hands, and he takes a deep breath before placing his palms flat on Adam's back, rubbing in wide, smooth circles. His stomach is tight, and he can feel his heartbeat in his palms as Adam shifts a little to allow Kris better access to the back of his neck. He tries not to think about it; he just lets his fingers press against the side of Adam's throat, the skin behind his ears, his shoulders. They touch each other all the time, Kris thinks, and it's unfair that doing this is making him flush with embarrassment and arousal. But really, he doesn't get to touch like _this_ every day, with intent, with all the time in the world to map the inches of Adam's skin. Though maybe all the time in the world is an overstatement, he thinks, as Adam shifts under his hands.

"You know it's totally juvenile to write shit on my back in sunscreen and hope it gets tanned into my skin," Adam says with a sly grin. "If you did that, I _would_ notice."

"I'm not," Kris stammers, knowing he should laugh. But he's half-hard already and Adam's eyes are still closed, and Kris thinks for a fleeting second about leaning down and planting a warm, chaste kiss on Adam's shoulder, wonders if he can wipe away the sunscreen to taste Adam underneath it. "I have to use the bathroom," he manages, and he's halfway up the steps before Adam even gets out an acknowledging hum.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," he says to himself in the mirror, the bathroom door shut tightly behind him. He's been having these thoughts for a few weeks now, struggling with how to deal with wanting Adam when he's not sure what the hell that even means, but he hasn't _done_ anything about it. All his impure thoughts have stayed pretty firmly inside his brain. Now, he's got the memory of Adam's skin still lingering on his hands, and a palm that's already slick with sunscreen, and it doesn't take any thought at all for him to push his trunks to the floor and grab his dick, a few sure strokes pulling him so close to the edge he can already taste it. He's got to be quick or Adam might come looking for him - he's not worried so much about Kris anymore, just nosy as fuck, as per usual - and Kris thinks about Adam's hand on the doorknob on the other side of the door, about Adam opening it to find Kris there, his fist making slick, fast strokes over his dick. He thinks about Adam sinking to his knees and the warm, wet heat of Adam's mouth, and what his dark-rimmed blue eyes would look like, staring up at Kris, and Kris comes hard enough to lose his balance a little, his hip slamming into the blunt edge of the sink.

He thinks he should be more ashamed of it than he is. Thinks he shouldn't be able to look at Adam at all when he walks back out the pool. But Adam's dozing lightly in the sun, his hair curling at the nape of his neck, and Kris just lets himself sit and watch for a while before he pokes Adam with his toes and makes him turn over.

*

Brad is not Kris's favorite of Adam's ex's. Brad has no filter, and no sense of personal space, and he's a little bit of a famewhore. He delights in shocking people, and tends to wear less than is publicly acceptable, and winks at guys who are clearly married. Including, for the first two years of their acquaintance, Kris. He's also the first guy who broke Adam's heart. And no matter how it went down, Kris has _loyalty_ on that score. So he glares at Brad sometimes, and Brad snipes back in his high, sweet voice, and Adam... thinks it's cute. Even if he's totally a masculine guy, Adam is sometimes a terrible _bro_.

Given that Brad is not his favorite, Kris has no idea how he ends up shirtless in Adam's laundry room with Brad at three in the morning, in the aftermath of an epic party.

Well, okay. He's had shots. A lot of shots. And Brad has had at least one drink (sometimes more) in his hand all night. And Kris somehow managed to knock into him and spill one - something strong and red and fruity - all over both of them, and then somehow thought it was a good idea to drag Brad into the laundry room and demand he take his shirt off. Kris drops his shirt in the washer and Brad's comes flying over his shoulder.

When Kris turns around, Brad is leaning against the closed door, half-lidded gaze wandering over Kris's torso. "So," he asks, his Texan drawl inviting under layers of rum, "now that you've got us half naked, what's your plan?" Kris's eyebrow shoots up, and Brad laughs. "Guess I’m not really your type," he sighs.

"Yeah, not exactly," Kris grins. He wonders if he has a type, when it comes to guys. He thinks Brad probably isn't it, but that Brad probably wouldn't find that much of a deterrent.

"Right, well, I can hardly compete with your incredible hard-on for my ex," Brad says, "Give a guy a ten inch cock and a record deal, and even the straight boys want to move in and play house."

Kris freezes, eyes fixed on Brad's feet, bare on the linoleum floor. There's no way Brad can _know_ that, he reassures himself. He scrambles for a comeback, but his cheeks are flushed and his pause lasts just a fraction too long. When he looks back up, Brad is watching him, mouth slightly agape.

"I was _kidding_ , holy shit."

"No, it's not—" Kris starts, but Brad pushes off from the door and stalks toward him.

"You so do, oh my _God_ ," he says, a little gleefully, and Kris takes a step back, his hips pressing against the edge of the dryer as Brad pushes into his personal space. "You have a thing for Adam."

"Brad, come on," Kris pleads, because honestly he hasn't talked about this with _anyone_ yet, and he's really pretty sure it isn't supposed to be _Brad_. "Nothing's going on."

Brad nods slowly, his tongue running thoughtfully over his lower lip. "I'm sure there's not," he says. "Adam isn't that good at keeping secrets from me. He doesn't have any idea, does he."

"Look, just. Let it go, okay?" Kris is a little desperate now.

"Oh, honey," Brad says, batting his long eyelashes. "You should know by now that letting things go has _never_ been my strong suit. Now tell me," he puts his hands on the dryer, bracketing Kris's body with his arms, and leans in to whisper low in Kris's ear, "is this an Adam thing, or a boys in general thing?"

 _Adam thing_ , Kris thinks to himself, but then Brad presses in closer and closes his teeth gently over Kris's earlobe. Kris closes his eyes and inhales sharply; the pool of embarrassment in his stomach is suddenly overlaid with a shiver of want, and his hips jerk forward. Brad hums in appreciation. His thigh is strong and lean, pushing between Kris's, and when Brad rolls his hips Kris can't stop himself from rolling back into him, his hands wrapping like vice grips around Brad's forearms.

He would so absolutely not be doing this, except for the alcohol, and the fact that he's spent a few weeks now sharing a bed with Adam, twisting his fingers in the sheets to keep from reaching out and touching warm skin as he sleeps. He closes his eyes, prays for the strength to push Brad away. "You're full of surprises," Brad smiles into his skin, sucking lightly under Kris's ear, and Kris just lets his body take over, let's his hips roll and his hands slide up Brad's arms to his shoulders.

"This isn't--," he says, but Brad just laughs and tugs his hips closer.

"Oh, I have no delusions that you aren't thinking about someone else right now," he murmurs, gasping a little as they rock into each other. "I'm really just not the kind of person who cares."

Kris wants to roll his eyes at that, but Brad scrapes his teeth over Kris's throat and slips his fingers under the waistband of Kris's jeans and all he can do is try to remember to keep breathing. Brad's fingers make deft work of his belt, his zipper, and Kris drops his head forward onto Brad's shoulder as he shoves Kris's jeans down a few inches and wraps his fist around his cock. "Shit," Kris exhales, and the scrape of Brad's stubble is harsh on his cheek.

"You're just lucky I don't wear fifteen rings on each hand, like some people we know," Brad says. "Those things are fucking _cold_." Kris huffs out a laugh, and tries not to let his mind picture it, Adam's big fist closed around him. It's almost less fucked up to force his eyes open, to watch his dick disappearing into the tight circle of Brad's fist, to slide his palm down over the flat expanse of Brad's chest until his fingers trace where his jeans lay low on his hips. "Yeah," Brad says, soft and a little breathless, and Kris wonders why this isn't harder, how his hands know exactly what to do.

"Do you want--," Kris starts, and Brad just pops the button on his tight black pants with his free hand, shimmies them down his thighs with practiced ease. His cock is hard and narrow, and Brad presses his hips forward enough to wrap his hand around them both together. Kris's brain stutters at the image, the sensation. "Or that," he says with a laugh that's only a little hysterical.

"You are so fucking pretty when you blush," Brad says, voice lower than usual, slow like honey as it glides past the rush of blood in Kris's ears. "You want to give me a hand here?"

It's not a stretch for him to do it, to wrap his fist around his cock, overlapping Brad's fingers, to feel the smooth, hot skin of Brad's erection against the calloused pads of his fingers. It's a handful, both of them together, and it's not like jerking off, not even a little, not with Brad's breath coming in damp, warm puffs against his neck. His flush covers his torso, half adrenaline and half exertion, and Kris's thighs shake when Brad's thumb teases the head of his cock. "He's bigger," Brad says, eyes closed, words slurred but perfectly understandable, even though it takes Kris a minute to catch up. _Adam._ Kris shivers. "Way more than a handful. He liked to fuck my mouth, but it was a fucking _trick_ to do it right." Kris doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to _know_ except for the parts of him that do, that hang on every word out of Brad's mouth. "He'll hold you down," Brad says, ragged breaths matching Kris's. "He'll hold you down and mark you. Make you beg for it."

And it's a memory, Kris can tell, but part of him takes it as a promise, Adam's hands pressing his wrists to the mattress, his eyes bright and sharp as Kris bucks beneath him, and Kris comes with a high, mortifying whine all over his fist, come splattering both of their chests. Brad moans and lets his hand fall away from Kris, just jerks himself off and comes in a few fast strokes. They stand there, panting for a few tense moments before Brad reaches behind Kris and pulls a towel from the shelf over the machines.

"So," Brad takes a step back and wipes himself off and buttons his pants up. "This is a really interesting little problem you have, Kristopher."

Kris just stares at him dumbly for a second and Brad shakes his head and tosses the towel at Kris's face. Kris jerks back and Brad snorts derisively. "If you're gonna be queer, you need to be a little less touchy about the dirty bits," he sneers.

"Yeah, thank you," Kris grits out testily, pulling his pants up his hips. His whole body is shaky and he's covered in a sheen of sweat and come - not all of which is his - and he has to go back out into the house and pretend like this never happened.

"You know if you're fucking with him, we might have a problem. You think there's not a gay mafia, but you would be wrong." When Kris looks up, Brad is leaning on the door again, arms crossed. He's smiling, but it's the thin, feral smile Kris has seen him throw at people who piss him off.

"There's nothing going on," Kris replies, his own voice edged with anger. He's been a fucking Boy Scout, and Brad can go fuck himself if he thinks this is going to mess with _Adam's_ head more than it's messing with Kris's. "I told you, he doesn't even know and I don't plan on _telling_ \--"

"I don't actually care, sweetheart," Brad says, condescending and sweet. "The second he figures this out, which he totally will, you're going to have him tied in one hell of a knot. And while I applaud you and welcome you to the fold and all, Adam's been around for way too long to go fucking around with some guy who's _covered_ in new gay smell."

"I'm not asking him for anything," Kris says, low and tight. "He doesn't have to--"

"He doesn't have to, but he will." Brad juts his hips out and tilts his chin up. "Adam's almost thirty, and he's got himself mostly figured out. You might get to the point where you can tell Adam how you feel, but are you ready to tell your mom? Your fans? Or are you really going to ask him to go back in the closet for you?"

Kris is stunned. "No, that's. No. I wouldn't ever ask him to hide anything."

"He would, though," Brad says, and he's nodding now. "He would do it for you."

Kris doesn't even know what to say to that. "Look," he fumbles, "there's no telling if he'd even be _interested_ \--"

Brad snorts loudly. " _Riiiight_. Because you're not his type at _all_." Brad takes a step toward him and Kris can't help taking an involuntary one back. "He's easy, I get that. You lose your pretty little wife, and your perfect little fairytale goes 'poof' and now you're scared and you're alone, and you run to Adam because he's the one person you know won't reject you for it. He's still got that little crush on you, he'll let you play house here all you want."

"Shut up," Kris grits out, because that's not how it is at _all_. Kris came here because Adam is his best friend, because Adam always has his back. It's not _easy_ , these feelings that are threatening to spill over and change them, change Kris, change _everything_.

Brad clenches his jaw. "If you seriously have feelings for him, good. Fine. I hope you get your shit together and you two adopt little Cambodian babies, or whatever. But you better be really fucking sure, cupcake, because if you fuck with him, I _will_ fuck with you." Brad slams the door behind him. Kris presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and takes a long, shuddering breath.

*

Brad doesn't tell Adam.

It's not that Kris thought he _would_ , but. He kind of thought he would. He braces for something to happen, for Adam to say that he _knows_ , and when he doesn't, Kris gets a little... frustrated.

There is no way Kris is going to tell Adam that he has this big, stupid gay crush on him, but the not telling him just leads to afternoons like this one where Adam and Kris are stuck in the car together for a three hour ride down to San Diego to visit Adam's dad.

Adam's singing along with the radio, his hair falling into his eyes, his jeans pulling absurdly tight across his thighs as he shifts gear. He grins over at Kris, and Kris's heart skitters a little in his chest.

It's like _torture_.

"Come on, you pick a station," Adam says and Kris spends five minutes tracking through dozens of satellite radio stations, wondering out loud how they find enough music to fill them all. He stops when he sees Adam's name come up on the display, coming in on the middle of Adam's second single, a ballad he started when they were still on the AI tour. Kris remembers Adam sitting him down, picking out chords on the acoustic Kris lent him, still clumsy at it, but learning. "It's not exactly a love song," he'd said. "It's like... a pining song." They'd worked on the song together for most of a day before Adam had smiled nervously at him and said "Thanks, I... think I'm going to put this one away for a while, see what happens."

"No, no, no, Kris Allen, you turn that off now," Adam laughs from the driver's seat, and Kris can see that his cheeks are flushed with embarrassment.

"You know I've heard this before," Kris teases. "In fact, I think I'm the one who came up with _'and every day you seem a little closer, but every night you're still out of reach'_."

"And that is why you are thanked in the liner notes," Adam says, reaching up to flip to the next station.

"Hey, I liked that song," Kris grins at him, and Adam just shakes his head.

"If you want to play this game, I'm _sure_ I have your last demo in the car somewhere...," Adam says, flipping down the visor and reaching for one of his burned CDs.

"Fine, fine!" Kris puts his hands up, laughing.

They drive in a near-silence only broken by the occasional sing-along to the radio, or to play Adam's favorite game of adding "in bed" to the end of billboards they pass. After an hour Adam turns on his blinker and pulls into a Starbucks. "Do you have to use the little boys room?" he asks and Kris rolls his eyes.

"No, because _I_ didn't have two venti frappachinos before I got in the car."

"Fine," Adam sighs as he parks. "Meet you back here in five."

Kris gets out of the car to stretch his legs. They got a late start and the sun is high in the sky. Kris sees a few dogs playing in the grass next to the parking lot and walks over to get a closer look. One, a big yellow lab, comes running at him with a stick in her mouth. "That's Daisy," calls a woman from a picnic bench. "Just throw it, and she'll be your best friend."

Kris tosses the stick for Daisy a handful of times, rubbing her ears when she brings it back. He's calling for her when he feels a hand at his waist. He turns his head and Adam props his chin on Kris's shoulder and grins at him. "We could get a dog," he says, and _God_. Kris really, really wants to kiss him. It's an awful, agonizing moment before he can make his head turn away from Adam's eyes, Adam's _mouth_.

"Yeah, maybe," he says, as casually as he can, and he really should step away but he doesn't. He leans back into Adam's chest, Adam's fingers still warm on his side, and closes his eyes when he feels Adam's sigh.

*

He sends Katy flowers for her birthday - a big bouquet of summer chrysanthemums and astors that he knows she'll love. He's not sure why he does it, except he always has. The card reads "Thinking of you" because he couldn't think of what else to put when the guy on the phone asked him. It's lame, and it's not what he wants to say, and he waits until it's almost eleven o'clock at night, Arkansas time, to pick up his cell and call her. He locks himself in the small guest bathroom, settling on the tile floor with his back to the door, his stomach full of butterflies.

She picks up just before it hits voicemail. "Hi," she says, her voice just a shade cautious. Kris presses his head back into the door and closes his eyes.

"Hi."

"I got the flowers," she says, and she sounds a little pleased, which gives Kris courage.

"Good. I wanted... to say Happy Birthday. See how you were."

"I'm... good," she says, a little breathless, "Just getting ready for bed." There's a pause, and she laughs suddenly, a rush of sound through the tinny cellphone speakers. "This is totally stupid."

"What?" Kris asks, and he's smiling a little, her laugh as infectious as always.

"Why the hell am I nervous on the phone with _you_?" she replies.

"Hey, I'm a famous person," Kris says with a grin.

"You're a dork."

"That too." Kris presses his feet flat into the cold marble of the sink. "How are you, really?"

Katy sighs, and he can picture her on the bed of what was supposed to be their master suite, her hair down around her shoulders, her face freshly scrubbed. "I'm okay. Lonely, sometimes. It's weird."

"I know," he says, and she sighs again.

"It's... okay, though. Everything happens for a reason, things are moving forward, my life is a cliche, blah blah." She laughs again. "But I'm good, though. The house is perfect, and work is so busy they're throwing tons of new stuff my way, which is fun. I'm doing a lot of happy hours with the girls, getting a taste for mojitos." Kris can picture her too, tall cool glass in her hand, her always cheerful friends toasting her independence. "How about you? Your mama says you're still staying at Adam's."

Kris feels a slight jolt to the back of his spine, a tingling sensation he can't quite pinpoint. "Yeah, he's. It was just easier. I'm looking for a place," he lies, and she hums on the other end of the line.

"How is he?" she asks, quieter this time, and Kris can feel his cheeks heating up.

"He's good. He's, you know. Adam." He laughs a little.

"He's making you leave the house. I saw it on Entertainment Tonight," she teases, and Kris picks restlessly at the hem of his jeans.

"Yeah, he's been...," he starts, and trails off. _He's been good for me._ his brain supplies, but he can't say that to Katy. He doesn't want to hurt her, and he knows with a sudden certainty that she'd be able to read between the lines. He's also not so sure it's true, thinking about weeks of being so close to Adam and feeling like he was about to burst out of his own skin from not touching him, from not knowing.

"Hey, you still there?" Katy's voice is soft and sweet over the line, and Kris takes a sharp, painful breath.

"I'm so sorry," he says, and he means it completely. Sorry for having left her alone all those months, sorry for the promises he made about the future that he just couldn't follow through on. Sorry for falling out of love with her, sorry for falling... _shit_. Sorry for falling in love with Adam.

"I know," she says sadly. "Me too." They just sit there for a few moments, listening to each other breathe. "Kris," she says finally, and Kris has to blink away hot tears from the corners of his eyes. "You know I only ever wanted you to be happy, right?"

"God, Katy--"

"No, seriously, whatever makes you happy... _whoever_ makes you happy, that's okay. That's good. As long as they... _he_ treats you right."

Kris drops his head to his knees, his words muffled by fabric as the tingle in his spine turns into a full-blown shiver. "Am I that easy to read?" he asks and Katy sighs again.

"Only to me, babe." Then, "I'm guessing you haven't told him yet?"

"Yeah, because that's an easy conversation to start," he notes dryly. "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is," Katy says, encouraging, and Kris groans.

"This is not actually the conversation I expected to be having here, kitkat."

"Yeah, well, you sure weren't going to talk to your mom about it," she throws back at him, and _dammit_.

"No, I was not." The women in Kris's life are clearly conspiring against him. But that means Katy's still part of his life, somewhere, and his chest feel lighter than it has in weeks.

"Talk to him," Katy says. "Tell him."

"I can't, Katy. I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"You don't have to have all the answers before you ask the question," she says gently.

It's true, but to Kris it feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute, and he's just... not ready yet. "You're right," he tells her. "Now, tell me about work. I need a dose of Conway in my life."

She sighs again, but it's the same exasperated tone Kris has known for ten years, and she settles into a familiar patter about life back home, letting Kris off the hook for the moment.

*

The problem with being in love with someone and not telling them is that eventually Kris ends up here, at some party thrown by some nightclub, where he's stuck in VIP watching way cooler people pick up way hotter people. Oh, and also watching Adam make out with a boy in the corner, almost hidden by the shadows if you don't know where to look.

When it comes to Adam, however, Kris always knows where to look.

He's staring, he knows he is, eyes focused on the patch of darkness occasionally punctuated by a flash of skin. He's gripping his beer in one hand, and the arm of the red leather chair in the other. His whole body aches from holding himself still - not from running away, but from walking over there and tossing this guy out of Adam's lap. He can see Adam's hands slide down the guy's back, eyes following the movement to where they tuck into the back of too-tight pants. When he looks back up, he can see the whites of Adam's eyes, staring right back at him. They lock on to each other for too many seconds, Kris's breaths coming in shallow pants that match Adam's. Then the guy does something that makes Adam's hips jerk, makes his eyes roll back, and Kris... really doesn't have to stay and watch this.

He's already at coatcheck when Adam's fingers curl around his elbow. Kris pulls out of his grip, and he's not _angry_ , except he kind of is, at everything. At that guy, for getting all up in Adam's space when he came with Kris; at Adam for letting him; at himself for being such a chickenshit about this whole thing. "You're going?" Adam asks, and Kris just shrugs.

"Not my scene," he says, refusing to meet Adam's eyes.

"Yeah, okay," Adam nods, and hands over his coat ticket. "Meet me at valet."

They're halfway home when Kris finally feels like an asshole. "You didn't have to leave," Kris says, eyes focused on the lights flashing by on Sunset.

"You didn't look like you were having a very good time," Adam says, his voice strangely tight.

"Yeah, well, you looked like you were having a _great_ time," Kris mutters, and he's prepared for Adam to give him shit for it, to call him on the bug that's crawled up his ass, but Adam just tenses in the seat next to him, eyes fixed on the road. He changes gears fast enough to make the car jolt in the lane.

When they get home, Kris changes quickly and crawls into bed. He's still half-hard from Adam's little show at the club, and he wonders how many more nights he's going to be able to do this before he explodes. Adam takes a few minutes in the bathroom, but comes back out fully dressed. "Think I'm going to stay up for a while. I have some shit to catch up on."

Kris blinks at the ceiling. "Yeah, okay. 'Night." Adam turns out the lights as he leaves, and Kris presses the heel of his hand into his dick and exhales.

*

They try to marathon the last season of Lost on DVD that weekend, but when Adam's fingers accidentally skim Kris's bare arm, he flinches away, his whole body now trained to treat every touch from Adam with a neon CAUTION sign. Adam doesn't say anything, just sits a little further away than usual on the couch, his legs splayed open and his eyes focused on the screen. When Kris tries to tuck his toes under Adam's thigh, Adam tenses enough that Kris pulls them back, gets up to go to the bathroom, just to splash some water on his face.

When he comes back, Adam's on the phone. "Maybe we'll just try next week?" he asks, and Kris nods. He escapes to the patio and sits in the sun and lets himself wallow.

He thinks maybe it's time to find his own place, and the ache in his chest makes him feel stupid and angry and sorry for himself. If he's never going to tell Adam how he feels, it's his own damn fault, and maybe he just needs his own space, and to meet a cute girl and get back in the studio and stop being a damn teenager about this whole thing.

Or maybe he just needs to tell Adam how he feels and pray the whole thing doesn't blow up in his face.

*

"Let's go, superstar!" Adam yells to him from the front door, and Kris wonders how in the hell Adam was ready for this event before he was. He checks his hair in the mirror and grabs his leather jacket from the chair in the kitchen, and they're off again - this time to an industry function for the new AI group. Fuller's sent a _limo_ to pick them up, which always makes Kris feel both giddy and ridiculous, and Adam spreads out in the back, pops the cork on a bottle of champagne and pours them each a glass. "To never having to sing disco again, unless we want to," he says, and Kris clinks their glasses together with a "here, here!" and downs it in three quick gulps. When he looks up, Adam is shaking his head. "You may want to start out easy, tiger," he says.

"Eh, not like we're going to get anywhere near the bar for hours," he says, and Adam tilts his head thoughtfully before pouring them each a second glass.

"To a decent pre-party!" he toasts, and Kris grins at him before drinking the whole thing down, the bubbles tickling the back of his throat.

It turns out, however, that when you're already two years out from Idol fame, the reporters don't have nearly as many questions for you. Unless you're Adam, who interviewers fall over themselves to talk to. So, an hour after he arrives, Adam's still working the lines while Kris is bellied up to the bar with Anoop on one side of him and a new kid - Ben - on the other. They're on their second tequila shot of the night. "Man, remember when you were the good one?" Anoop teases, elbowing Kris as he sucks hard on a lemon wedge.

"I was _never_ the good one," Kris replies with an eye roll. "But yeah, I wasn't a drunk until I started hanging out with you losers." He elbows Ben a little. "Remember kid - they're only your friends until they've locked you out of your bus in your underwear."

"That was _one time_ and you'd lost the bet," Anoop laughs, and winks at Ben over Kris's head. Ben's tall, with broad swimmer's shoulders and brown hair that's just a little shaggy. He's in a plain grey t-shirt and worn jeans, and he's smiling, green eyes a little wide like he can't believe he's there. Kris remembers that feeling. Ben made it to the top six this year, which could mean a career, or it could mean not. He seems like a nice guy, so Kris is rooting for him.

"You want another?" Ben says, and Anoop begs out to go find his girlfriend. Kris looks around, spots Adam in the far corner with a drink in his hand and at least four people vying for his attention.

"Sure, why not?" he replies, and Ben smiles wider and leans into Kris's side as he flags down the bartender.

Later, much later maybe, Kris is happily drunk and lost in a sea of people. They brought in a decent DJ this time but the dance floor is still small, people packed in like sardines. Kris closes his eyes and lets his head tip back. He knows he's a shitty dancer, but in a crowd this tight you can't do much more than sway anyway. He feels a warm hand slide around his side, palm flat on his stomach, and someone tall steps in close behind him, lean and hard and _male_.

 _Adam_ , he thinks, and lets his body fall back. "Hey," comes a rumbling voice in his ear, and when Kris blinks his eyes open it's not Adam who's pulling Kris's body back, not Adam who's dick is pressing hard into Kris's ass. It's Ben.

"Hey," Kris replies, and Ben's hand shifts a little lower, fingers splayed over the waist of Kris's jeans. "What're you--," he starts, and Ben's breath is hot on Kris's neck.

"Dancing," he says with a slow, lazy smile, and Kris knows this is a bad idea, but he's been so fucking _good_ for so long that he just lets Ben hold on and move them to the music. He can feel where Ben is grinding into him a little, and he knows at least one of them will be mortified when they sober up tomorrow, but Kris feels hot and heavy and loose-limbed and _wanted_ , and it's... really fucking nice.

He's not sure how long they stay like that, Ben's hand pushing slowly at Kris's shirt until he finds bare skin, Kris pressing back into Ben's groin until he can feel a muffled moan reverberate through his body. But suddenly the crowd around them is shifting and Kris blinks his eyes open to find Adam right there, almost too close. He reaches out, fists his hand in Adam's t-shirt to pull him closer until he's trapped between their tall, lean bodies. "Hey, I was looking for you," Adam yells over the thump of the music. His eyes flicker down to where Ben's thumb is caressing Kris's side.

"Dance with me," Kris says, and pulls on Adam's hip with his other hand. It's so fucking warm, and Kris just wants to strip his t-shirt off and dance, strip Adam down too, and maybe Ben. He just wants to _touch_ , nothing wrong with that, he thinks hazily. He just wants to feel Adam's heart beating under his fingers, taste the sweat pooled at his collarbone. He rolls his hips and Adam's eyes snap up to Ben.

"What the hell did you give him?" he asks, and Ben doesn't know Adam, doesn't know that that voice means danger, duck and cover. Kris ducks his head into Adam's chest and giggles.

"Nothing but tequila," Ben laughs behind him, "I swear."

Adam's fingers thread through Kris's hair, and Kris wraps an arm around his waist. Adam's good at holding him up. "Come on, let's get out of here before someone remembers they have a fucking cameraphone," Adam says low in Kris's ear, and Kris lets himself get tugged out of Ben's grip, shrugging at Ben's indignant "Hey!"

"Sorry, man!" Kris yells, "The walls have ears!"

Adam snorts out a laugh and pulls him out of the crowd and through the club, grabbing their jackets from a back booth and propping Kris against a wall while he slips his on. It takes Adam three tries to get his arms into the right holes, and Kris giggles again. "You're drunk."

"Says the guy I found getting molested by the football player," Adam says incredulously.

"Swimmer," Kris nods at him, and Adam just rolls his eyes. "He's nice."

"Yeah, you wouldn't be saying that once he had his hand down your pants," Adam notes with an arch of his eyebrow.

"That would be nice," Kris sighs, because man, he would love someone's hand down his pants right now. He's half-hard already, and Adam is wearing the striped pants that Kris loves, and his skin feels all tingly where Ben's hand was, and... Adam is staring at him. "What?" he says. Adam just blinks a few times.

"Let's find a car."

The towncar they take home isn't as fancy as the limo there, but it allows Kris to sit slumped against Adam for the whole ride, his head resting on Adam's shoulder. They're out of the crazy traffic of downtown and into the hills before Adam looks down at him with a strange smile on his face. "That guy was really into you," he says, and it's almost teasing but Kris can feel where Adam's knuckles are pressing into his thigh, almost hard enough to shift muscle over bone.

"Yeah?" Kris says, distracted, his eyes flicking down to Adam's hand. Adam's fingers twitch, like he's forcing them still.

"Yeah," Adam replies, a little breathless. "You shouldn't lead boys on like that; it gives them the wrong impression." Kris tips his head back and Adam is smiling at him, but his eyes are sharp, predatory behind a haze of alcohol. Kris's stomach tightens and he thinks _this is it, fuck_ , but the car is pulling into Adam's driveway and Adam is pulling away.

Getting out of the car is a feat; Adam really isn't that much more sober than Kris, and they stumble their way up the drive and into the house, Adam's fingers like a vice around Kris's wrist. Kris tries to twist a little - not escaping from his grasp, just testing it - and when Adam's fingers tighten even more, Kris shivers. "Don't," Adam says sharply, but his tone softens immediately. "You're going to fall on your ass, and I'm not going to be able to get you off the floor, man."

"'S okay," Kris says, stumbling a step further into Adam's space. "I'm not gonna fall." Kris is sober enough to know he's skating a fine line here, but Adam's breathing is a little off and his mouth is open, eyes focused on Kris's collarbone, and Kris thinks _yeah, yes, please_ , leaning forward like an invitation. "You got me, right?"

"Yeah," Adam breathes and Kris sways a little on the balls of his feet. "Come on, we should sleep this off," Adam says now, louder and clearer, like he's trying to break this spell that's settled over them.

Kris very, very much does not want to sleep this off. Kris wants to slide his palms under Adam's shirt and pull him close and kiss him until neither of them can breathe. But Adam's pulling them down the hall to the bedroom, and he just pushes Kris at the bed without any ceremony and asks "Can you get your shoes off on your own?" with a wry grin before dissappearing into the bathroom.

Kris huffs at the closed door. He can get his damn shoes off _just fine_ , thank you, and he also strips off his shirt and his socks and shucks his jeans, very nearly tripping himself in the process. He crawls into the bed and flops over on his back, his hands fisting in the sheets until the room stops spinning. "Adam?" he yells after a minute, but he can hear the water running in the bathroom and sighs. "This sucks," he says sadly to no one at all. His eyes traitorously start to close, and Kris doesn't want to sleep, doesn't want to stop whatever this is that has Adam looking at him like he wants to push Kris against the nearest wall. He's hard enough that each time he shifts, the cotton of his boxers sends a tiny jolt down his spine, and he focuses on that, on rolls of his hips against the mattress. It's not enough to make him anything more than frustrated and he bites back a whimper, presses his palm against his stomach where Ben's hand had been, pinky slipping under the waistband, and wonders if he would have let Ben do it, like he let Brad do it. He thinks probably he would, just to stop this God-awful ache. He tips his head back with a groan.

"You okay?" Adam asks from the doorway of the bathroom, his voice thick with something Kris can't describe. The light is still on behind him, and Adam's skin looks pale under all his freckles, the dark hair on his arms, his chest, standing out in stark relief. He's in nothing but soft sleep pants, and Kris has to force his eyes to the ceiling to stem the rush of want.

"No," he says and it comes out a little broken. "Adam."

"I don't... know what you want," Adam says, his voice almost pleading.

Kris holds out a hand, says "Please, Adam, come on," and it seems like it takes Adam a full minute to cross the room, his eyes locked on Kris's face, searching for something Kris is pretty sure should be easy to spot. He slides over in the bed, an open invitation, and Adam slides in next to him. He stops before their bodies touch, and Kris keeps himself still, waiting. "Kris," he whispers, a little desperate, and Kris reaches his leg out and runs his foot along the swell of Adam's calf. "We can't."

"Why?" Kris croaks out, his whole body taut and hot, his throat raw.

Adam presses his forehead into his pillow, his fingers wrapped so tight around the edge that his knuckles turn white. "Because I don't want you to hate me."

Kris laughs at that, a nearly soundless shake of his chest. "I won't," he says, and his hand slides across the inches between them, knuckles sliding down Adam's chest slowly. Adam shivers and Kris palms his own dick with his other hand. "Come on," he says again, and when his knuckles press lower, over the lowslung fabric of his pants, Adam grabs Kris's wrist and holds it still. Kris can feel the hard ouline of Adam's cock through the thin material, flexes his fingers and hears Adam's sharp intake of breath.

"Kris," he whispers again, and his eyes are closed, teeth biting at his lower lip, his shoulders tense and shaking, and Kris is pretty sure he's never seen anything so sexy in his whole life. He rolls on his side, the whole world spinning a little, and slips his thigh between Adam's, pressing down until he can feel the heat of Adam's dick against his leg.

"God," Adam's voice is low and smokey in his ear, and Kris presses in closer. " _Kris_ ," he says again, a little broken, and Kris pushes his leg down a fraction more, can feel the way Adam's dick twitches at the pressure. Kris is so hard, and Adam's fingers slip warm and tight into his hair, tightening a little when Kris rolls his hips, both of them panting at the friction. " _Fuck_ ," Adams says, barely a whisper, and Kris opens his mouth and presses his lips to the rough skin of Adam's throat; not kissing, just there. He can feel Adam shudder, feel him shift a little until his ankle is hooked over Kris's, until their hips are rolling to meet each other.

It's frantic for a second, both of them pushing and pulling, but then Adam's arm curls around his lower back and just holds him still. "I want," he breathes. "Fuck, Kris."

"Yeah, yes," Kris manages, his voice more a whine than anything else, and Adam's hand slips lower, palm huge against the curve of his ass. Kris moans a little when Adam's hip presses against his dick with firm, smooth pressure, over and over.

"Shhh, I've got you," Adam says quietly, and Kris nods, presses his nose to Adam's throat, and just rides it out; he can feel Adam _everywhere_ , and it's amazing. It doesn't take him long to reach the edge, not with Adam making harsh, needful noises in his ear, his hand splayed over Kris's ass, kneading and pulling. One finger slips into the crack between his cheeks, the fabric of his boxers sticking to Kris's damp skin, and it sends shivers down Kris's spine. Adam stills for a second and Kris makes a choked, frustrated sound and pushes back into Adam's hand, down onto his thigh, rocking until Adam presses down, finger rubbing through cotton at a bundle of nerves Kris never really gave much thought to before now. Kris can feel his orgasm start in his fucking _toes_ , moaning as it rips through him, mouth pressed open and wet against Adam's collar.

Adam's fingers are still in his hair when Kris turns his head, presses his cheek to Adam's chest and tries to get a deep breath. "You okay?" Adam asks, and it's playful, but hestitant, like Adam's not sure what's supposed to happen now. Kris isn't sure either, except that Adam's still rock hard underneath him, one roll of Kris's hips making him jerk back a fraction. "Fuck, you don't--," he starts and Kris doesn't even let him finish the sentence, just slides his hand under the waistband of Adam's pants and wraps his fist around his dick.

"I kind of do," Kris grins when Adam's head falls back. His whole body curls for a moment into Kris's touch, and the hand in Kris's hair tightens as Kris begins to stroke him. He fumbles a little, the pants getting in the way, the angle not quite right, and Kris frowns for a second before using his free hand to peel Adam's pants down enough that his cock is free, slick and red, pushing against Kris's fingers. Kris brushes his thumb over the head, spreading a drop a precome down toward his fingers.

"Oh," Adam gasps, and his eyes snap open, glued not on the sight of Kris jerking him off, but on Kris's face.

"That's good?" Kris asks, twisting his wrist as much as he can at this angle. Adam nods, bites his lip again. "Good," Kris grins, lazy and loose. He's been obsessing for weeks about this, about getting Adam naked and what the fuck he was supposed to do after that, but Adam's eyes are glazed and he's staring at Kris like he's the fucking messiah, and Kris wants to laugh. _This is the easy part_ , he thinks. Then, _I want to see him come_. He speeds up, keeps his strokes tight and even, and Adam's hips hitch once, twice and he's coming with a small, broken curse, his forehead pressed to Kris's temple.

They lay there in the dark of Adam's room ( _their room_ , Kris thinks, heart giddy) and Kris closes his eyes. He should probably get up, clean them both off, change his shorts, but he figures it can wait until Adam's heartrate slows to something a little more human, until Kris can bear to pull away.

*

When he opens his eyes, it's still dark in the room, save for the light coming from the open door of the bathroom. Kris is still in his shorts, now a sticky mess when he shifts against the mattress and Adam is... gone. When Kris stands up, he stumbles, and he's still just a little drunk, but not enough to stave off the feeling of doom that's settling in his stomach. He washes up in the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. There's a red patch of skin at his jaw where he was pressed against Adam's stubble and his lips feel tender. He puts on sweatpants and a t-shirt and walks into the bedroom. The sheets are a tangled mess and Kris exhales slowly. They should have talked about this first, he knows that. Not just jumped into sex after everything they've been through. This wasn't how Kris planned this, but then again, Kris never actually planned it at all.

He wonders for a horrible second if Adam is actually _gone_ ; he almost goes to check out the window, to see if Adam's car is in the driveway, but he hears a noise from the front of the house and feels his heart startle in his chest. He pads quietly out in the living room and Adam is on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, painted toenails curled around the edge. He's staring at the sliding doors to the patio.

"Hey," Adam says quietly, not looking at Kris directly, but at his reflection in the window. He looks like shit, and Kris reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder. "Don't," Adam says, flinching back. Kris balls his hand in a fist and lets it drop to his side.

"I'm sorry," Kris says quietly, because that's his default phrase when things are fucked up. He wants to take the words back the second they leave his mouth, though, because Adam's jaw clenches tight and Kris remembers the feeling of Adam's skin under his fingers, and he's really not sorry at all.

"That was. That shouldn't have happened," Adam says tightly, and since he won't look at Kris, he focuses on Adam's reflection, the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders are hunched forward.

"Yeah, probably we should have talked about it first," Kris says with a sheepish shrug.

"No, I mean, that's. Whatever you think this is, I can't...," Adam trails off helplessly, and Kris takes a breath, then another one, desperately wishing Adam would finish his goddamned thought. _What can't you do?_ , he thinks, but Adam just blinks down at his hands.

"So you didn't want to," Kris says finally, intent on pulling the truth out of Adam. It's totally a dick move on his part, he knows that, but if he's going to bare his soul in a minute, he'd like to have some idea if it's going to be followed by a quick pack of his things and a trip to the nearest hotel.

Adam laughs bitterly. "That's not really the issue at hand, Kris."

"So you did want to," Kris replies, and he can't help the small smile that goes along with it. Adam throws his hands up and finally looks at him.

"Of course I fucking wanted to, are you... Jesus. You were drunk off your ass, and you haven't gotten laid in months, and I couldn't keep my fucking hands to myself even though I have a little _mantra_ for it and everything."

"You have a mantra?" Kris asks, his grin tugging at the side of his mouth. Adam glares at him.

"Yes, said to myself every night into the bathroom mirror. 'He's your best friend, keep your hands to yourself, don't freak him out or he'll leave.' And then tonight you were all..." He waves his hand in Kris's general direction and makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. Kris palms the back of his neck with one hand.

"Yeah, well, I'm not really the one freaking out here," he says matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I noticed that," Adam mutters and Kris chuckles.

"How long have you had this mantra?"

"Don't. Don't be a dick about it," Adam tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. "You know how I feel about you. The fucking _world_ knows how I feel about you."

Kris can feel his own pulse is his chest, his stomach, his fingertips. "You think I'm cute," he says, because that's all it ever was, all Adam ever said in all those interviews. _They put me in with the cute one._

"No, you're. Fuck, Kris. You're kind of perfect. For me. And I can't have you, and that's... fine. I mean, it's life, and I know that, but then tonight happened and I just. It was kind of amazing and now it's like I have to retrain my brain not to look at you like that." Adam's gaze settles on Kris's face, and Kris thinks it's got to be obvious now, the fucking naked adoration that's probably written there, but Adam just looks... lost.

"What if," Kris starts, and has to swallow past the tightness in his throat, "what if you can have me?"

"Kris," Adam says, weary, and Kris takes two long steps to the couch and straddles Adam's thighs, sitting back on Adam's lap. His hands cup the sides of Adam's face.

"Hey, I'm not... this isn't a joke, okay? What if you could have me, right now? What if that's what I want?"

"I'd say you're picking a hell of a time to have a big gay revelation." Adam laughs a little, but his hands are shaking when they come to rest on Kris's hips.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I think," Kris grins at him, "but my ex-wife thinks we should make out, and she's a pretty smart girl. Also my mom, but we really, really aren't going to bring that up."

"Kris, this is--," Adam starts and Kris presses their foreheads together.

"I know, and I'm a total asshole for not telling you, like, _months_ ago, but I really... kind of might be a little in love with you, and I have no fucking idea what I'm doing, but what happened tonight... I wanted that, I really, really did, and I'm not freaking out. So."

"So," Adam says, eyes wide. His fingers tighten around Kris's hips, slide up to slip around his waist.

"So, I have no idea what the next part is," Kris admits, and he's a little terrified, actually, but Adam's face is falling into a sweet, wide open smile, and Kris can't help but smile back.

"Now, I think I'm going to kiss you," Adam says, and Kris swallows hard, nods.

"Yeah, I think--" But the words get lost in the feeling of Adam's mouth, and Kris figures they can talk the rest out later.


	3. Epilogue

It's barely light out when Adam opens his eyes with a rush of thatyesplease running through his veins, the time of day that's the beginning for some people, but still the middle of the night for Adam and Kris. But Kris still has streaks of morning person in him that years of night living haven't quite erased, and he seems to be very much awake now, hands slipping restlessly over Adam's thighs, mouth hot and insistent on his cock. Waking up to blowjobs is rare enough, but even if Adam woke up like this every day, it would never get old, not with the way Kris winks up at him when he sees that Adam's eyes are open. Kris's hair is spiky and wild, soft under Adam's fingers when they slide through it, urging him closer, deeper. It's been almost a year, and Adam's still grateful every time Kris looks at him with this spark in his eyes, every time he laughs when Adam pulls him into his lap. The feeling he gets when Kris moans around his cock is something that transcends grateful, something warm and heavy, like his chest is being cracked open, his heart excited enough to try and beat its way out of his ribcage.

He's used to slow, sleepy blowjobs in the morning (only on days when they have nothing until afternoon; neither one of them wants to move much after), but this is different, wet and sloppy, just this side of frantic. Adam tugs a little on the hair at the nape of Kris's neck and Kris makes a guttural, needy sound. "Kris, fuck," Adam manages when Kris presses his thumb behind Adam's balls. He's already way harder than he has a right to be this early in the day, and he wants to savor this, slow it down. "Whoa, whoa," he says softly.

Kris pulls off his cock with a wet sound, hands still stroking him. "Adam," he pants, his voice reed thin, forehead pressed to Adam's hip. "Fuck, I want... need it," he whines, and Adam pushes up on his elbows, jostles Kris in the side with his knee. Kris inhales sharply. Wow, okay, Adam thinks, because Kris is only this inarticulate when he's almost at the edge. Problem is, with Kris's hand still jerking him off hot and slick and fast, Adam's closing in on it himself.

"Okay, just," Adam says, laughing a little, breathless, and reaching down to still Kris's hand. "I need a second, seriously." If he doesn't get one damn second where Kris isn't touching him, this is all going to be over really fucking fast. But Kris actually growls into his skin, head dropping forward and rolling on his thigh, and Adam can feel that he's shaking a little. "Kris," he says worried, and Kris is pushing on his hands and knees, crawling awkwardly up Adam's body, mouth pressing hot against him, not kissing, just sliding over skin. Adam's whole body is thrumming, and Kris is bowstring taut above him. He noses at Adam's throat.

"Fuck me, please," he whispers and when he looks up, his pupils are blown, eyes inky black and pleading.

"I will, shhh," Adam says, hands smoothing down Kris's sides, trying to bring him down just a fraction from where he is, to get him to a point where Adam can open him up, take his time. Adam wouldn't have thought he would ever have the patience for this; he's the kind of boy who would encourage a quick, dry fuck in a public bathroom, skin sticking to skin. But Kris never got the concept of pleasure in pain. They tried a few times, when Kris was practically begging like he is now, and neither of them wanted to wait. But Adam didn't love it because Kris didn't, and they stopped trying months ago. Adam gets off on Kris getting off, and Kris gets off on slow, lazy fucks, right to the edge and back again. Adam pushes lightly at Kris's chest, trying to hint that he wants Kris on his back, but Kris shakes his head, fingers tightening around Adam's shoulders.

"Now, come on," Kris says, and rocks back against Adam's cock. His hips keep moving in these tiny circles that are driving Adam a little insane.

"Kris," Adam hisses, and Kris cracks a smile.

"Come on," he says again, low and teasing, "I'm ready, let's go."

Adam blinks up at him, and Kris shivers as Adam traces his fingers down his spine, feeling the slick of lube at the curve of Kris's ass. "What did you--" Adam starts, but then his fingers brush smooth silicone and Kris bucks a little above him. "Holy shit."

"Didn't want to wake you," Kris says, shaky but grinning, a blush blooming high on his cheeks.

"So you decided to crack open the sex toys?" Adam says with a disbelieving shake of his head. His fingers won't stop tracing around the edge of silicone, and Adam is pretty damn sure it's a butt plug he picked up in his 'let's see what Kris's kinks are' phase. This... wasn't one of them.

"Time saver," Kris says, and his elbows shake when Adam presses the plug in, just a fraction.

"How long?" Adam murmurs, and Kris blinks his eyes open.

"Not too long. Bathroom." Adam can picture him in there, hands slick with lube, one foot on the edge of the tub as he worked himself open, door closed to keep Adam from hearing any little noises he made. It's the hottest fucking mental image he's had in... possibly ever.

"Fuck, Kristopher," he breaths, grinning like moron, and Kris leans down to kiss him.

"You gonna fuck me now, or what?" he asks, so close the words vibrate off Adam's lips, and Adam grabs Kris's ass in both hands and squeezes tight, swallowing Kris's whimpers as he uses his thumb to press the plug in as far as it will go before twisting a fraction and pulling it out slow, slow, slow. Kris is shaking above him, and Adam worries he won't be able to stay upright, but the second the plug is gone, Kris leans back on his heels and reaches around with one still-slick hand, guiding Adam's cock inside him with a few rocks of his hips, a few hitched breaths.

Kris drops his chin to his chest, his hands splayed flat on Adam's torso, and Adam thrusts his hips up experimentally. It's an easy slide, Kris's body just opening around him, and Adam gets up on one elbow and pushes a hand through Kris's hair, yanks hard enough to pull Kris's head back. He bites sharply at the tendons of his neck and Kris twists a little in his grasp. "Yeah, Adam," Kris manages, throat working hard to swallow, nails digging into Adam's shoulders. "Harder, come on."

Adam lets go, loses himself in the rhythm of his body slamming hard into Kris, the slick sounds almost overpowering the harsh, panting breaths they're both taking. His body is tingling, and he has to remind himself that fifteen minutes ago, he was sound asleep, and Kris was in their bathroom, already hard, opening himself up for this. He lays back against the pillows and grips Kris's hips in both hands.

"Touch yourself," he says, and Kris looks up at him through damp lashes, a drop of sweat sliding down his temple.

"Like this?" he asks, almost coy, and wraps his fist around his cock, stroking from base to crown, teeth biting at his lower lip. Adam would accuse him of showing off, but his eyes flutter so convincingly at the touch that he remembers this is just Kris, getting lost in the feeling of them, not thinking about what angles look good, or what words might make Adam's rhythm stutter in surprise. He just rides the edge, pulling Adam along with him, and Adam ends up surprised most of the time anyway.

"So fucking gorgeous," Adam murmurs, mostly to himself, as Kris jerks himself off in time with Adam's quick, hard thrusts. He moans a little on every upstroke and Adam knows he's close, knows he's hitting the right spot by the way Kris's shoulders hunch, his arms tremble. "That's it, come on baby," he says roughly and Kris lets out a low, broken groan and comes in hot spurts over Adam's chest, a few drops hitting his throat. It's the visual combined with the way Kris's body clamps around him, squeezing and releasing, that pushes Adam over the edge. He comes inside Kris with a shout, head thrown back as Kris continues to rock back into him, riding it out until the pleasure tips over into a raw, tender ache.

He grips Kris's hips tightly and Kris stops, rising to his knees with a little difficulty, swaying a little when Adam's cock slides free. Adam catches his shoulder and pulls him down gently, laying him on his side and tucking him close.

"Love you," Kris says quietly, his voice quavering just a little.

"Love you too." Adam presses his lips to Kris's hair before he gets up slowly, padding to the bathroom for a warm, damp washtowel. Kris is already mostly asleep as Adam wipes him off tenderly, eyes fluttering when Adam places a line of kisses down his shoulder. Adam crawls back under the covers as the sun finally rises up past the hills. They don't have anything on the calendar until dinnertime today, and Adam plans on spending most of the day right here, Kris breathing heavy and calm against his chest.


End file.
